


Transport

by havetardiswilltimetravel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetardiswilltimetravel/pseuds/havetardiswilltimetravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is sick. John is endlessly patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transport

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DemonicSymphony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/gifts).



> This was originally written a while ago on tumblr  (here) for DemonicSymphony.

John knocked softly on their already open bedroom door, the quiet taps announcing his presence more than anything. “Sherlock…you awake?” he asked quietly, voice swallowed up by the darkened room.

“Obviously,” the detective slurred, his usual biting tone replaced with one slow and tired. John’s brow furrowed in sympathy at the lack of energy Sherlock’s words contained, and he sighed.

“Well, you shouldn’t be…” John murmured, moving to place the bottle of medicine and its attached cup on the nightside table. The cup of water next to it had at least been partially drunk. That was something at least. Sherlock’s eyes lit upon the bottle, and his face contorted at the thought of the vile liquid.

“Last dose for the night,” John started, but Sherlock rolled over in a huff, and John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, you need to take your medicine.”

Sherlock’s shivering form didn’t budge, and after a moment, John moved to sit gently on their bed, looking at the other man with soft eyes.

“Come on, love…” he said, voice softening further, hand moving to tuck a sweaty curl behind Sherlock’s ear. “The sooner you take this the sooner I can hold you and warm you up.” Sherlock took a ragged breath and swallowed, wincing just a bit at the sting in his sandpaper throat. “Just a sip,” John enticed. “And then it’ll feel better and I’ll be right there with you…”

Slowly, Sherlock turned onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms with difficulty and attempting a glare. He failed miserably. 

A pour and a swallow later, John was in bed, arms wrapped around his detective, legs entwined and free hand tangled in ebony curls. Sherlock looked at him with glassy exhausted eyes before burying his head against John’s neck. John knew the detective abhorred when his transport took control, when he had no say. John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head, hand combing through his hair. It would be ok. Soon, they’d be back running the streets and John would have his hands full even keeping up with the wiry man. Right now, however, he had his hands full of a consulting detective who was just starting to softly snore.

“G'night love…” he murmured, closing his own eyes, hand continuing to card through Sherlock’s curls until he himself drifted off.


End file.
